In the summer of 2008, when we found out we were pregnant, my then-girlfriend Gale Forcewind and I were living in a basement apartment. Our landlady assumed we were married, and we never corrected her. The neighborhood was full of Filipinos, and some of the older middle-aged and married men would sometimes invite me for a beer, and we would hang out and drink by the sidewalk. They also assumed we were married, and whenever they would ask about me and my "wife", I would just say we had a quick ceremony in Vegas.
I liked our little place. It was pretty spacious because it was almost the same area as the house, minus the compartment for the boiler and the heater. The only real problem was that it was not actually safe. The only exit was the door at the back of the house, and the small windows, which at the start of fall, we had to seal with material to keep the cold out. The potential hazard was always in the back of my mind, even before we were pregnant.
Another minor inconvenience was that, since we exited through the back door, we had to walk through the narrow driveway to get to the street. Sometimes there would be a car or two parked there, and we had to squeeze through. I knew this would not be a good situation as my wife's belly was getting bigger.
On the week of Thanksgiving, somebody broke into our car, which we had parked at the corner many feet away from the house. Luckily enough, the day before it happened, we had cleaned up a little and taken our valuables inside. The only thing that was taken was a one-dollar bill which Gale had folded into a ribbon and put inside the glove box.
The window was broken. I wanted to bring it to a shop to get fixed, but I couldn't just call out of work, even with an emergency, because well, I could go on about my work but I'm not going to. So I drove my wife to work, covered up the window with a trash bag and gaffer tape, and left the car at the parking lot where she worked.
I told the landlady about it, and she was kind enough to let us park in their driveway for a night. She figured people were getting desperate with the holidays coming up, and what with the recession and everything. I immediately brought the car in to get fixed so as not to inconvenience the house owners any further, and of course, because it was cold as hell already by then.
Things were okay for a couple of months. I went to a job interview at NYU, got my hopes up and never heard from them again. I watched MSNBC every night, wishing things really would change. And both the Mets and the Jets imploded at the end of their seasons.
When Christmas break came, the landlady's kids came home from college. She had three or four of them. They would go out every night and come home around three in the morning. Our bedroom was right under the front door of the main house, and they came in very late at night stamping and stomping and trip-trapping. And their little dog would get excited to see them come home and she would run back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.
So I brought it to my landlady's attention that my pregnant wife and I haven't been sleeping very well for weeks. She was all smiles about it, and she apologized even. But the gist of her message was that, since we were only paying $800 a month, we should just deal with it. She said there were other places out there that weren't basements were people were walking right over you, even though the rent would probably be higher. So I said, okay, I hear you loud and clear.
There were a couple of nights when I totally lost it. I started slamming doors over and over but it didn't seem to phase her little spawns. I slammed the doors so hard that the panels broke. A couple of times, Gale tapped our ceiling with a broom and the noise stopped. For a few minutes. Generally it was around 5am when they would actually go to sleep.
What got us through those times was the fact that we were looking forward to a vacation in Hawaii. It would be my first time there, and Gale's mom was throwing us a baby shower. I kept reminding her to think about our holiday and that in a few days we wouldn't be stuck in that hellhole anymore. And of course, during her whole pregnancy, Gale always kept her composure because getting riled up would not be good for the baby.
We found another place but we didn't tell the landlady yet. We were worried about what would happen to our things while we were away. If they could be that inconsiderate with us there, what more when we were across the continent.
On Christmas night, we listened to the tribe upstairs literally whoop as they opened each present. Each present. Each. Present. They would whoop. "Whoop, whoop, whoop." Seriously. I made sure to explain to Gale that this was not a Filipino thing. At least as far as I know. I don't know where the heck they picked it up.
The next day, we left for the airport. The trip to Hawaii was great, and her family was very welcoming. I had met a few of them before in Las Vegas. And I had also met her mother back in 2004.
Going back to the subject of my job, I was only able to get one week off, while Gale had two. So I left earlier. That was the loneliest time of my entire life. All sorts of thoughts went into my head while we were separated, and I just was never myself.
What kept me going was the move. And I did it all by myself. Granted our biggest piece of furniture was just the futon and mattress, but it still was no easy task. I'm very proud of it. Especially since I did it all without the landlady (and her husband and spawns) and the beer drinking neighbor buddies noticing.
I forgot to mention that when I first got back from the airport, I found fruitcake on our dining table. Full of mold. It confirmed our suspicion that they do enter our apartment without telling us.
When I got everything out, I then told her about it. She tried to play it cool, but I could see she didn't expect it. She wished me luck and everything and went off about other subjects. And then she mentioned that she would still need that month's rent because the deposit should not be used for the last month's rent. She was right. But I didn't care.
I said, "Yes, of course. By the way, can you get me a copy of the basement's inspection certificate? My lawyer said I need it for my taxes. I already have your receipts for the rent, but I'll need the papers that you filed with the city." Something like that.
She stammered. I was pretty sure she didn't have it. And I don't even know why one would need it for their taxes. I can't remember her exact words, some kind of excuse as to why she didn't have it, but then she said, "You know what, don't worry about the last month's rent. I can just use your deposit for it."
"Okay," I said, "Good night." And then I left. It was one of the most satisfying moments of my life. I wish I had a picture of that look on her face, or that I was enough of a wordsmith to describe it.
Oh and by the way, I locked all the doors inside. They didn't have the keys for them, so the whole time we lived there we had to be careful not to lock ourselves out of the rooms.
My future wife and baby never had to return to that basement. Oh, and I never touched that moldy fruitcake on the table.
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